A Warden's Duty ficlets, drabbles, and prompts
by BrennaCeDria
Summary: A series of drabbles, prompt fics, and the like that I've fit within the continuity established in A Warden's Duty. Some will be alt POV scenes from that story, others will be other characters in that universe. Image by DalishTook
1. Plans Change

_A/N: Written from the following prompt: "Aveline at Ostagar, Loghain's betrayal"_  
_As always, everything belongs to Bioware; I'm setting this within my Warden's Duty continuity, though, because if I ever get the chance to write more Aveline within Elissa's version of the world, this is the "her" I'd like to present._

* * *

She had to keep running.

When the order to retreat reached Captain Varel, they all knew it was wrong; but they also knew they had no choice. Everyone who'd entered that valley was being massacred, and only those who escaped would be able to counter the lies that would soon be told. So the captain had relayed the order, supplemented by an order of his own:

_Get back to your families. Let them know you survived. Then come find me, and we'll find a way to put this right._

And so she ran. North, through the swamps and the forest. North, away from the bloodshed. North, to find Wesley.

When she left him in Denerim he was heading west to an assignment of his own; with any luck she'd be able to buy a horse in Lothering—or steal one, if absolutely necessary. The thought galled her, but if it had to be done it had to be done. So she'd get herself a horse. She'd find her husband, and then she'd find her captain.

And then, Maker willing, they'd find that bastard Loghain. His majesty's memory deserved at least that much.

But if she was going to manage any of it, she had to keep running.


	2. Piece of Cake to Bake A Pretty Cake

_A/N: Written from the following prompt: Alistair, Leliana "Do you really think that's a good idea?"  
**TAKES PLACE BETWEEN CHAPTERS 24 AND 25 OF A WARDEN'S DUTY  
**__As always, everything belongs to Bioware; I'm setting this within my Warden's Duty continuity, though, because if I ever get the chance to write more Aveline within Elissa's version of the world, this is the "her" I'd like to present._

* * *

"You want me to lie to her?"

Alistair winced. "_Lie_ is such an ugly word, Lil; I just want you to make Lissa think I'm somewhere else. Now can you hand me that sack of flour?"

Smiling in spite of her confusion, the bard did as requested. "What _are_ you doing down in the kitchens? I thought you and Elissa both would be with the arl now that he is awake, discussing the Landsmeet."

"Oh, Lissa wandered off to find a bath as soon as we arrived and Isolde and Connor are with Eamon right now anyhow." He paused and squinted at a scrap of paper lying next to the mess sprawled across the work table he'd commandeered from the kitchen staff. "Eggs?"

"You still have not said why you're in the kitchen," Leliana pointed out as she passed over the requested eggs. "What you are trying to cook, and why do I have to lie to Elissa about it?"

Blushing, he mumbled something that Leliana couldn't quite hear.

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm trying to make her a cake," he repeated with a sigh. "We'll be back on the road again before her birthday comes around, and I want her to be able to enjoy it properly."

"If you want her to _enjoy it_ properly, you should stop teasing her so."

"_Leliana!_"

"Then again, some teasing can be quite nice, but not in the way you have teased her thus far."

"I- We- Just go keep her away from here until I'm done, will you?"

Smirking, the Orlesian made her way to the door and paused. "Alistair, dear," she called back, "I know you want to do something special for Elissa, but do you really think that's a good idea? Making the cake yourself? We've all eaten your stew, at least, and if this cake turns out anything like that you may not get the reaction you're hoping for. I would suggest having one of the cooks take care of it for you; having a birthday cake that's edible will be a much better gift."

For a fraction of a moment Alistair looked like he was about to say something in response. Instead he glanced at his recipe, then back at the bowl he was mixing the ingredients in, before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"You're probably right," he admitted dejectedly as he dumped his work in progress in a bin and started over.


	3. Another Year Gone, Another Year Gained

_A/N: Written from the following prompt: Bethany and any Awakening companion(s), birthday party  
**TAKES PLACE AT SOME UNKNOWN POINT POST DA2, ACT 2, BUT EITHER WAY ABOUT A MONTH AFTER BETHANY IS ASSIGNED TO VIGIL'S KEEP. ANDERS AND VELANNA ARE THE ONLY AWAKENING COMPANIONS NOT STILL AT THE KEEP, BUT NATE HAS NOT YET BECOME COMMANDER OF THE GREY FOR FERELDEN-THAT WON'T HAPPEN FOR ANOTHER TWO YEARS OR SO IN THIS HEAD CANON.  
**__As always, everything belongs to Bioware; I'm setting this within my Warden's Duty continuity, though, with my Warden!Beth and references to the DA2 team as they are/were in The Champion's Letters (Ria Hawke, etc)._

* * *

_I don't understand why they bother_, she thought to herself bitterly, one foot swinging as it hung off the edge of her bunk.

Sigrun had made certain to inform her upon return to the Keep that she was to be clean and ready for supper in "precisely an hour, Commander's orders" but Bethany had no intention of being in anyone's company tonight. She knew why they expected her presence, and knowing made today sting even worse. She knew they meant well, but what good was a birthday, when all it counted for anymore was one less year before she'd go mad and have to submit herself to the Deep Roads once more? What good was it when yours was meant to be shared, but the other half of your very self had been torn away so many years ago now?

Her hour was nearly up, and she was certain that the Commander would send someone after her soon when she didn't make her required appearance in the main hall. In a rare, preemptive act of defiance, she kicked off her boots and burrowed under her rough blankets, robes and all, hoping that whoever did come looking would assume she was asleep and leave her alone. Perhaps she'd end up doubly lucky and would be able to actually fall asleep before they came after her, so she wouldn't have to pretend…

_Everyone was gathered in Varric's suite at the Hanged Man, just like usual. It couldn't be more than a few hours after dark, but whatever they were celebrating, it was clear they'd been at it most of the day. Most everyone was at the main table, playing Diamondback or Wicked Grace, she couldn't be certain which, but it struck Bethany suddenly that her sister was missing, as was Anders._

_The healer—another Grey Warden, she reminded herself, and she wondered not for the first time what sort of life she might lead if she ran away from the Order the way he had—appeared from the door to Varric's private bedroom with a small, sad smile and rejoined the others at the table._

"_How's she doing, Blondie?" Bethany heard the dwarf ask, and she guessed that her sister was already drank herself stupid for the evening. For all her worldliness, Ria never could hold her alcohol. Or maybe she could to a point, and just kept drinking passed that point anyway; Beth had never figured out which._

"_She'll be fine; she's just exhausted after this morning's excursion. I tried to tell her we could do this another night, but she insisted."_

_Varric played a few cards on the current hand then turned back to Anders. "Birthdays only come once a year, after all, Blondie. Even if Sunshine's gone to the Grey Wardens now, if Hawke wants to throw a party for her sister, I'm going to help her throw a party for her sister on whatever day she tells me to."_

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up!"

Bethany startled awake at the command, groaning and burying her head under her blankets when she saw Sigrun's impossible, never-ending grin greet her.

The dwarf patiently pried the blankets away and made a small tutting noise when she saw that Bethany was still wearing what she'd arrived in. Shaking her head, the dwarf picked the lock on Bethany's footlocker and dug through it a moment for a suitable change of clothes for the Keep's newest arrival. She selected a pair of soft doeskin breeches, a loose blouse, and corset, and passed them to her still-grumbling friend.

"Make sure to wash your face and brush your hair out too, Sunshine," the dwarf girl ordered with a more mischievous grin than usual. "Another friend got back in from a mission just after you did, and he's already downstairs. I'm _pretty_ sure you'll want to meet this one."

_How does everyone end up coming up with the same nickname for me? Especially these past few years?_

"Hel-lo! Sig to Beth!" The rogue mimed knocking on Bethany's skull to get her attention. "Are you coming down to your own birthday party or not?"

"You know how I feel about birthdays anymore, Sigrun. Just one less year left."

"Birthdays are always just one less year left," the dwarf replied with an uncharacteristic sternness. "We've been given the gift of being able to count our birthdays as one more completed year killing the darkspawn and helping those who can't help themselves in that respect."

Beth smiled sadly at her friend. "Easy words from someone who's already dead, you know."

"Was it really so different for you, when your sister and Anders found Stroud and convinced him to put you through the Joining? You might have still been breathing, Beth, but you were dead. I know it's a hard life to get used to, but your sister gave you a gift when she sent you away—possibly the best gift she ever could, even if she was just desperately flailing at the time. And I'd bet every sovereign I won from Oghren last night that she still marks today in some way or another, for both you and your brother."

"I… suppose you may be right," she admitted, remembering the dream she'd had in the brief moments that she'd dozed off. Smiling genuinely for perhaps the first time since her Joining, she stood to change her breeches and finally pull back on her boots. "Now then, what about this friend you want me to meet?"


	4. Icing on the Cake

_A/N: Written from the following prompt (more or less, I don't have the exact phrasing of the original prompt anymore): "Alistair and Zevran, discussing other uses for cake icing."_  
_As always, everything belongs to Bioware; I'm setting this within my Warden's Duty continuity, though, and this takes place IMMEDIATELY AFTER the drabble "Piece of Cake to Bake a Pretty Cake" (which is chapter 2 of this drabble series, IIRC) and during chapter 24 of this site's copy of WD (AO3's upload of WD has different chapter numbers and names due to editing)._

* * *

Leliana was right, of course—he really should be leaving this to the cooks. But if he didn't try at least once more on his own, he'd never be able to live with himself. After all, with everything Elissa had been through in the past months, the least he could do for her is make her a birthday cake.

Frowning over the recipe one of the cooks provided, he began to combine the ingredients again. What he had really wanted to make her was one of those flipped-over cakes, with the fruit rings in it—but not only was that far outside his skill, he couldn't remember what she'd called that particular fruit. Even more, knowing the name of the fruit wouldn't get him one of the damned things from Antiva to Redcliffe in the middle of winter to use for her cake.

The dry ingredients were all mixed, and he reached for the eggs—which were suddenly missing from where Leliana had left them just a while before. Glancing up in alarm—the cook said she wouldn't give him any more if he messed up again—he stared in shock as the damned Antivan leaned against the table casually juggling the last of Alistair's egg allowance.

"What are you- Put those back!" he demanded, thrusting a bowl toward Zevran for the eggs, but the elf just danced out the way.

"Baking for a woman is a serious commitment, Alistair," the elf warned as he caught the eggs one by one. "That said, I did happen to overhear your conversation a short while ago with our dear Leliana."

Alistair glared suspiciously at Zevran as the elf deposited each of the eggs in the bowl. "And?"

"And, I agree with her. If you want Elissa to enjoy herself, you should let her enjoy you. Alternately, you can enjoy her; done properly it works both ways."

Frowning slightly, Zevran grabbed the recipe copy while Alistair struggled to crack the eggs without getting any bits of shell mixed in. After reading over it a moment, he grinned. "You are planning a glaze for this cake, yes?"

"A what?"

"Egg whites, sugar, water, sometimes vanilla or a citrus juice for flavor. Once mixed, you pour it over a pastry or cake to off-set the bread-like texture and it cools into a sugary icing." Pausing, Zevran noticed the Alistair's blank confusion and clucked his tongue.

"You Fereldans truly understand little. You continue here," the elf advised. "I will get you the extra ingredients, and some instructions."

Zevran returned after a short while with what looked like lemons as well as a few more of those blessedly-rare eggs. "One of the cooks will be by in a few moments to separate the yolk from the whites; once that's done, follow these steps," he instructed, setting another scrap of paper with another recipe next to the first.

Looking over the second set of instructions, Alistair had to admit he could see this glaze being an addition to the cake that Elissa could appreciate. Her sister-in-law had been Antivan, hadn't she? He seemed to remember her saying as much, and that for her birthday she'd often get imports of Antivan sweets and the like from her brother and his wife. Maybe Zevran didn't have such a bad idea here after all…

"And while you're at it, keep some of the glaze aside, in a small bowl or the like," the elf advised as he made his way back toward to kitchens' main door. "You'd be surprised what other uses for it you'll think of. While you finish your work here, I'll find Elissa's maid and make sure she has an extra set of clean sheets waiting. Our dear leader seems to like being quite clean when given the opportunity, so I doubt she'll enjoy sleeping amongst the mixture should either of you spill it."

"Why would we have the glaze for her cake in-" Alistair began before seeing the elf's grin and blushing to the tips of his hair. "_Oh_. Erm… right… I think I'll just have enough made for the cake this time, but, erm, thank you?"

"Anything to please our fair commander, and since you seem to be what pleases her most…" Zevran let the sentence hang with another lewd grin as he let himself out.


	5. Runaway Royals

_So far as my overall headcanon timeline is concerned, this takes place fairly early in the spring the year that Golems of Amgarrak and Witch Hunt both take place, about three weeks before Elissa runs off to find Morrigan. I'm assuming that she and Alistair decided on a whim that they needed some alone time and that's why they're out camping and not in Denerim like usual. Inspired a sketch commission of Alistair and my warden by Chenria over on Tumblr._

* * *

"Eamon's going to be furious with us, you know."

Smiling, Elissa hooked one arm under Alistair's as she snuggled closer. "You keep saying that like it's necessarily a bad thing," she murmured without opening her eyes. "Eamon can take care of things in Denerim for a week, and we'll be back in time to make an appearance for your birthday celebration."

She could sense his sleepy frown as he adjusted to give her more room on their shared pillow. A much, _much_ finer pillow than either of them had the last time they camped like this—during the Blight they hardly had a pillow to begin with. The bedding was a drastic change from then as well, threadbare blankets that Alistair's feet always stuck out the other end of replaced now with clean linens filched from the palace laundry as they snuck out before dawn that morning.

"How come you've never have to deal with any royal birthday celebrations?" he yawned. "I get that last year you were stuck in Amaranthine, but you were home from Orzammar in time for your birthday this year."

Elissa sat up just enough to press a soft kiss to her husband's lips. "It's because I killed the Archdemon, love. Whenever people bring up something I don't want to do, I can just make a grumpy little face and they seem to remember that. It's a very effective way to be left alone whenever someone manages to slip past Valena to bother me with that sort of thing."

"Still not fair."

"I never said it was, dear," she smiled again as she settled back down beside him. "Now get some sleep, we need to be moving again before sunrise if we're going to stay ahead of the soldiers Eamon's bound to send after us while we're gone."


	6. Assumptions

_**Takes place early in Act 1 of Dragon Age II**__ from a Meresino prompt for the word "__**Ultracrepidarian **__- Of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge." Heavily references my head canon for Cullen, as well as both his connection to my non-Warden Vrania Amell, and Vrania's specific-and specialized-use of the games' magic. As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

"What is _this_?"

Meredith ignored the First Enchanter's outburst, finishing her current report before finally turning her attention to the irate mage. "What is what?" she asked, before noticing finally the crumpled page in his fist. "Ah. So you've been notified of the latest change of policy, I see."

"_Apprentices are no longer permitted to engage in entropic studies,_" he read from the page. "_Likewise, the study of entropic spells by Harrowed mages must be approved on an individual basis by not only their Senior Enchanter, but by the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander. Said approval may be revoked by any of the above-detailed individuals, and any mage caught practicing such arts without approval will be put under immediate review._"

"You disapprove?"

"Maker's breath, Meredith, of course I disapprove! Why in Andraste's name would you think to ban the study of one of the primary schools of magic?"

Sitting back calmly in her chair, she considered the man before her. "You will notice, _First Enchanter_, that I have not banned the study and practice of entropic spells. I have only restricted them that they can be taught to only those mages who have the aptitude and self-control to not abuse the power those spells give over another person."

Orsino had begun to pace, but then stopped suddenly as he understood her implication. "This is about the rumors about that transfer from Kinloch Hold, isn't it? The one who slaughtered those apprentices?"

"That is pure slander, and I'll not hear another word of it from you or anyone else. Ser Cullen was confused, and lashed out, but there were no casualties from his incident."

Shaking his head in frustration, Orsino began to pace again. "You admit the boy was confused—that he doesn't know what happened to him during the takeover of the Fereldan Circle—yet you take his word that practices approved by the Chantry generations ago are unsafe to teach to our own apprentices?"

"Orsino, I have done no such thing." Meredith sighed; it seemed that no matter how she tried, the worst was always assumed of her intentions. "While the new Knight Captain—yes, I've promoted him, and I'll not hear a word on that either—knows of my decision to restrict such studies, I doubt he suspects that he is the cause of those restrictions."

"I don't suppose you're planning to explain that?"

Sighing again, Meredith stood and crossed to a nearby cabinet and poured a glass of wine for each of them. When the First Enchanter accepted his and finally sat across the desk, Meredith took her own seat again.

"Before Knight Commander Greagior sent Cullen here, he sent a letter detailing much of what happened at Kinloch Hold during the blood mage Uldred's revolt. Apparently there was a mage girl in that Circle that Cullen was infatuated with; no one was ever able to confirm if it went beyond that or not." Meredith took several long gulps of her wine. "The relationship or lack thereof is not what concerns me, however. Greagior and First Enchanter Irving had come to suspect that the girl had learned to harness her exceptional skill with the school of entropy—_not_ blood magic—to bend others to her will, including Ser Cullen. The girl was killed in the uprising, but we agreed it was best to remove Cullen from the environment before it caused any further instability in his disposition."

"Entropy cannot be used for control in such a way," Orsino argued. "If it were at all possible, the Chantry would never have approved it in the first place."

Meredith raised one eyebrow. "No? The spells of that school permit a mage to confound an enemy, to put him to sleep and give him nightmares beyond imagining. It seems perfectly logical to me, now that I've heard the theories, that such abuses of this power might be possible. This is why I am restricting such studies to only those who have been properly approved for such study."

"Fine, then, for apprentices," he conceded begrudgingly. "But a harrowed mage should be permitted to study any approved school."

"The Harrowing only confirms a mage's ability to resist demonic temptations, Orsino. The power this girl was suspected of? No demons are required for its use. Greagior is confident that she never taught any others what she knew, but if one girl can learn how to do such things, others can as well. That is why I chose to restrict its use, and my decision is final, First Enchanter.


	7. Character Windows 1 - Vrania at Fifteen

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for my Vrania Amell at age fifteen. I only vaguely reference her age in the dialogue itself, when I mention how long until she expects her Harrowing (spoiler unrelated to this story: her Harrowing happens much earlier than she expects, only about a year or so after this scene). As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

_Four parts Nevarran dragon's blood lichen; one part mulberry fruit, less the seeds; one part blackberry juice. Powder, crush, and mix ingredients then boil three hours in six parts water. While boiling, prepare fabric to be dyed with a mixture of one part vinegar, five parts cold water, and two parts salted lemon juice._

The girl made a quick count of the mess of containers scattered along her work table and nodded in satisfaction. Everything was here, and the water was already boiling.

"Not again, Vrania," a voice sounded from the doorway, and she rolled her eyes with a sigh. "The Knight Captain's going to send you to Greagior if he finds out you've been wasting Circle supplies for coloring your hair again."

Glancing back to her intruder, Vrania very deliberately poured the crushed mulberries and the blackberry juice into the lichen powder, stirred it a few times, and then dumped it into the boiling pot. "Well, everything's been measured and mixed already, so I'd call it more a waste not to go ahead and finish now that I've gotten this far. Now be good little elf, Alim, and take turns watching this with me while it boils."

The elven apprentice chuckled, but did as he was asked. "What color are you cooking up this time, then? The blue you put in last time still hasn't washed out completely, you know."

"I thought I'd try for a pink this time," she called back, and he realized she'd stepped back into the dormitory. When she returned, she carried a linen shift, a towel, and a box containing her deck of cards.

"For while we wait," she explained, tossing him the cards so she could drape the towel and shift over the back of a chair.

At the end of their third hour, Alim packed up the deck while Vrania changed into the shift she'd brought along. "I'll still never understand how you get so lucky that you're not caught doing this until the next morning, after it's all said and done," he yawned when she came back.

"Never you mind that," the girl frowned, "now hand me that jug with the vinegar preparation in it." Taking it from him, she leaned over one of the basins and carefully soaked her hair with the vinegar, lemon, and salt. Satisfied that she'd not missed any strands, she returned to her chair. "Alright, Alim. Whenever you're ready."

Warmth washed over her scalp down to her shoulders as he cast a quick regeneration spell, which was immediately followed by scalding heat as he carefully ladled the boiling solution over her head. As she hissed in pain, another wave of warmth passed over her as Alim cast a second spell over her to prevent any scarring from the burns and repeated the process until the dye was nearly gone.

"Vrania, why do you do this to yourself?" he asked quietly as he applied the final drops and began to sop up the spilled solution with the towel. "Do you hate your hair so much that it's worth so much pain?"

She laughed so harshly that she almost snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "You've heard how my family found out I was a mage, right?"

"I don't even know where I'm from, how would I know how they found you?"

Vrania shrugged. "I was very young—younger than most children sent to the Circles. I think I was three? Maybe four, I can't remember. At any rate, a messenger girl came to the house one day with a letter for my grandfather. An elf girl, with the most beautiful ginger hair. I remember thinking how fabulous it might be to have hair as fiery as hers was, then suddenly the servants were screaming and hardly an hour later the templars had come to collect me. Without even realizing it, I'd changed my hair to match that girl's just by wishing it."

"So then why do you color your hair like this? If you can change your appearance with magic, why not do it that way, with less pain?"

"Because for the longest time, I didn't know how I'd done it. I had a breakthrough with it about a year ago, but I almost got caught changing back. I can't just wake up one morning all shape shifted—if that's what this even is—with no explanation, not with probably three years before they'll let me take the Harrowing. They'd decide I was a threat and make me tranquil if they found out. So, I started helping in the kitchens. Sneaking berries and other things out to get _caught_ coloring my hair with. Sure, it's painful when I first apply a dye, but then I can maintain it for as long as I wish by making any new hair growth match the dyed colors."

Frowning, Alim cast a glance back to the main dormitory. "Does anyone else know you can do this?"

"The First Enchanter knows it's possible, because he knows that's how my magic manifested. No one else, and he doesn't know yet that I've learned how to do it at will."

"Just… don't let anyone else find out?" the elf sighed. "At least not 'til you've gotten through the Harrowing?"

"Trust me," she grinned. "If anyone finds out and I don't want them to, they'll be waking up the next morning wondering what they drank the night before. I have very specific contingencies planned for that possibility."


	8. Character Windows 2 - Morrigan at 13

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for Morrigan at age thirteen. As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever. But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations; she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."

Morrigan rolled her eyes in disgust as the priestess continued her sermon. She'd come to this village's Chantry in hopes of gaining access to its library—had even stolen suitable clothing from an empty farmhouse on the outskirts so she'd not be mistaken for some Chasind child and run off by the villagers. Instead, she'd been ushered to a pew immediately upon entering and had been stuck here listening to old women prattle on about her absent god.

_If I'd wanted to listen to a senile old woman's babble, I would have stayed home with Mother today._ Still, it wasn't all bad. She'd nicked some sweet bread from the same home as her new dress; it'd been months since the last time she'd had any and it was just as good as she'd remembered. And eventually, the sermon _would_ be over, and she would be free to visit the library afterward.

Not that her Mother didn't have books she could read, of course; but in the years since Flemeth had taught her to read, Morrigan had probably read every book her mother permitted her access to at least fifteen to twenty times—each. She needed new stories. It didn't matter if she found history books or folk tales. To Morrigan, the two were much the same. She just wanted something she hadn't read before, and there was no hope of that in the Wilds.

After what felt an eternity, the priestess gave her final blessing upon the gathered villagers and the congregation began to disband. Some few villagers remained, talking amongst themselves, and Morrigan approached the nearest Sister with what she hoped was an innocent, earnest expression on her face.

"'Scuse me, ma'am? My mama said if I finished all my chores early I could read stories this afternoon." She dropped her gaze, and toyed with her skirts. "I'ven't got any books of my own no more, though—I dropped 'em in the creek last time I was reading 'em. I thought maybe I could read some of the books here, if that was okay? I won't take 'em out the library here, so they won't be getting dropped in the creek like my books did, if you'd let me?"

Mumbling something about being careful with the tomes, the Sister pointed Morrigan in the direction of the library and continued about her business. Morrigan grinned and all but ran in the direction of the library, climbing and hopping over pews as she went, and threw open the door. It wasn't an especially large room, but shelves lined every wall and reached to the ceiling.

Browsing the shelves, Morrigan let her fingertips brush gently across the spines of each book. One title in particular caught her eye, _Witches of the Wilds_, and with a smirk she pulled the tome down and settled into a chair near the hearth. The first part of the tale rang true enough to the story her mother had fed her for as long as she could remember—the dispute between the bann of Highever and the poet Osen over Flemeth's hand turned backwards, but the rest seemed more or less correct.

Something about it bothered her, though, and after marking her place she closed the book again to study its cover. _Witches of the Wilds_. It wasn't the first time the phrased had cropped up in her visits to one village or another. Always the word 'witches' and never the word 'witch' when references to Flemeth were made. Morrigan thought it doubtful that any of the authors of such stories knew of her as well as her mother, so then who else?

Casting a glance back at the library's door, she set the book aside and climbed up the shelf nearest the window. Seeing no one outside, she opened the latch and scurried back down to her chair. With one quick heft the book was over and out. No one would miss one volume out of so many. All that was left now was to retrieve her new treasure—and to make certain her mother couldn't confiscate it from her the moment she returned home.


	9. Character Windows 3 - Sebastian at 85

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for Sebastian at age eighty-five. As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

The old man had been a staple of Starkhaven's chantry nearly as long as any one could remember. Initially a brother of the faith, he'd been allowed to stay when his failing health forced him to retire from his duties. He had no family that anyone knew of, and so now the sisters and the few remaining brothers took shifts caring for him, forcing him to eat daily and checking on him in the night to be certain he still breathed.

When spring came, they carried him to the gardens so he could have fresh air; and when winter fell the priests would take him to the upper balconies of the chantry on the rare occasion that it snowed, that he could watch the flakes settle along the banks of the Minanter. These little things seemed to make the old man happy.

It was after midnight one such winter evening, and the girl assigned to check on him knocked gently to announce her presence before entering. She wasn't sure why she did it—he was always asleep at this hour—but it felt wrong to enter another's room without doing so.

"Come in, lass."

Freezing in shock, the girl recovered and pressed open the heavy door. "Maker's breath! Serah, you cannot—"

The old man was not only awake, but was half-dressed in the finest armor she'd ever seen. It gleamed in the meager candle light, but the buckles on the breastplate seemed to elude his reach.

"Aid an old man, would you, lass?"

Confused, she nodded, and set the candle on the small table. As she helped with his armor, she noticed a crest on the underside of one of the guards—a chalice encircled by three stylized beasts. The old man chuckled then, a wheezy sound, as he noticed her noticing the mark of his family.

"Nearly five decades have I been serving the Maker here, lass, and I believe you're the first to realize."

"Milord Vael!"

Pressing one finger to her lips, he shushed her. "No need to go worrying anyone with such small details, hm?"

"But you died at the beginning of the war! They say you were in Kirkwall's chantry when that apostate—"

The old man's face grew pained. "I did die then, lass, in many ways. Fetch me my bow and help me to the sanctuary, and I'll tell you the story."

Finding a bow bearing the same sigil at the back of his closet, she returned to help him up from the bed. Together they made their way from the dormitories through the work rooms, from the work rooms to the gardens, and from the gardens to the main hall of the chantry. Once there, he kneeled before the statue of Andraste, bow across his knees, and hung his head.

"I was indeed in Kirkwall when the war began, lass. And when the Champion—a woman I'd always considered one of my only friends in that wretched city—defied me and refused to kill her lover, even though she admitted his guilt, I swore vengeance. I was going to return here, claim my father's throne, and then return to Kirkwall to rain fire and blood on them all."

The old man fell forward then, coughing, and the girl realized his gloved hand was covered in blood. She offered him a kerchief, which he took with thanks, and then continued his story. "But when I got here, the city was managing itself. My cousin may have been a fool, but he'd found good men to aid him—men my father had respected and who'd escaped the Harrimans' slaughter of my family and their staff. I could not bear to destroy such peace, even in the name of vengeance. Elthina certainly would not have stood for it, bless her departed soul." Another hacking cough took hold of him, and he was left with only the barest of wheezing breath when it was over.

"What is your name, lass?" he finally struggled to ask, his head still hanging heavily after the last fit.

"Dierdra, milord."

"Well then, Dierdra, be certain that the Revered Mother not make a scene of my funeral, aye? Let my remains be burned like any other man's."

"But milord, when she sees this armor—"

"I know, lass. I'd like my remains interred with that of my family, but other than that, I'd like no public ceremonies or observances. Only you and the Revered Mother are to know that the man who died tonight was anything other than the Old Man of Starkhaven. Do you understand me, lass?"

"Yes, milord," Dierdra nodded. His breaths were growing shallower and shallower and she feared for a moment that he'd passed.

"Dierdra, lass?" he said suddenly, coughing again. "Make sure this bow is quietly presented to my cousin's current heir. It belongs in Vael hands."

Gently taking the bow from him, she felt the old man fall forward. He was dead; that much was obvious. She clutched the bow of Starkhaven to her chest for a moment, before lifting her head in determination and leaving him in his last silent prayer as she retrieved the Revered Mother to deliver the Old Man's last requests.


	10. Wedding Planner

_Written from an imagineyourotp prompt/post on Tumblr to imagine your OTP planning their wedding. As always, playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

"I don't care that Alistair's king. I don't care that I'm to be queen. I will _not_ allow such a large ball to be thrown in celebration of our wedding."

Valena pinched the bridge of her nose as she prayed to Andraste for patience. She didn't regret for a moment following Lady Elissa to Denerim when asked, even if it had meant leaving Redcliffe and her father. But her mistress had become even more stubborn than usual since the date of her wedding to the king had been publically announced, and quite frankly Valena was tired of the fits.

"_My lady_, it is customary that—"

"Sod custom, Valena!" Elissa crossed her parlor and pulled the curtains as wide as she could and pointed. "There are still people without homes out there, people who are starving. Unless you can find the resources to provide a feast and a roof for each and every one of them to match the feast that the nobles will be enjoying, I refuse to hear another word about a royal reception."

That was the worst part of all of this, Valena realized; if Elissa had been throwing a tantrum for the sake of a tantrum, she could probably be talked into properly observing custom eventually. But while reconstruction had been going well, there _were_ large portions of the city yet to be rebuilt, and her soon-to-be-Majesty's observance to duty demanded that her people be cared for before she accepted specific luxuries for herself.

"You _are_ still going to allow for a proper ceremony at least, I'd hope?" Valena demanded. "In the chantry, presided over by the Grand Cleric, and wearing a proper gown instead of your armor?"

Elissa pretended to sigh dramatically, and Valena silently sighed in relief herself. Such an attitude from her ladyship typically meant she was willing to concede to at least one point being argued. "Alistair still gets to wear his armor, you know," Elissa pouted, and Valena couldn't help but to smile.

"Yes, my lady, but he's the king. It's custom for the king to wear the royal arms for such events. _Just as it's customary for the bride to wear a proper gown_."

"You have a suitable dress maker in mind, I hope?"

"I've chosen three, actually," the blonde girl informed her. "I thought you'd rather like to speak with each of them regarding designs before making a final selection. Now then, about the banquet…"

The Warden's face darkened all over again. "I thought I told you, Valena, _no royal banquets_."

"I didn't say royal this time, my lady, only said banquet. Or were you planning on denying your family and friends a private celebration for you as well?"

"I… Andraste's ass," Elissa swore. Of course the others would insist on at least a private dinner. Eyes widening in realization, she spun on her heel to face Valena again. "Tell me you haven't spoken to Fergus or anyone else about this yet, Valena!"

The maid's expression was all innocence—and all of it false. "Why, of course not, milady! That said I don't believe I can say as much about his majesty. He and your brother have become quite close friends, you know."

"Valena, tell me that you did _not_ go through Alistair about all of this already!"

Grinning, the girl dodged out of the way as Elissa stormed toward her. "His majesty agreed that you'd likely not agree to a customary celebration, but he feels _quite_ strongly about there being a more intimate gathering among friends."

"I have to speak to _his majesty_," she hissed on her way out to the corridor so she could confront Alistair.

Valena followed her into the hall to call after her, "And I'll have the dressmakers here at three past noon, milady!"


	11. Breaking and Entering

_Prompted by the following post from imagineyourotp on tumblr: Imagine your OTP in some sort of meeting or event where they have to be serious, but they keep catching one another's eyes and have to hold in the giggles. As usual, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

Ria crouched behind the desk in the seneschal's office, working the lock on the drawers as quickly and quietly as she could. It was her third visit to the seneschal's office this month, but only the first that she was explicitly invited. She'd arrived while Bran was still out running errands of his own, however, and she couldn't resist the opportunity to torment him even more than she already had.

Her pick snapped and she swore quietly, and was rewarded with an urgent shush from Isabela near the door. "If you don't hurry up, we're going to get caught," the Rivaini hissed, but Ria just grinned.

"Don't worry, I've got this. It might be more secure than the locks he keeps on his chest but I'll get through it before he's back. Besides, Varric's taking care of things downstairs. If Bran returns before we're done, he knows what to do."

Luckily, there wasn't any need to worry because the lock gave on her next attempt, giving the rogue access to the seneschal's locked drawers. After quickly rummaging through each of them, she found one with a hidden panel at the back. Pulling the panel aside, Ria laughed so hard that Isabela's curiosity got the best of her and she left her post at the door.

"You think this is for us?" Ria chuckled, pulling out the largest bottle of rum she'd seen in years.

Isabela took the bottle and uncorked it, taking a swig. "I think it might just be," the pirate replied in approval. "Or maybe for _after_ us, as things usually go between us and the seneschal."

Still smirking, Ria retrieved her pack while Isabela stowed the rum away in a bag of her own. "Shit… Bela, please tell me you have it with you."

"Kitten, you thought I was going to trust your memory to something as important as this? Of course I have everything." Out of the same bag that now contained the rum came an impressive collection of sex toys, and one hideous Orlesian courtier's hat. Ria snatched each of these quickly from Isabela, plopping the hat on her own head as she stowed each of the toys in the compartment she'd revealed earlier before replacing the panel and locking the drawer securely again.

"Now then, what should we do with the hat?" she mused to herself as Bela returned to keep watch at the door. "We should have brought a pretty box to put it in, pretend it was a proper gift."

"I'll have you know those were very expensive props we're leaving behind, thank you very much."

Ria paused her search for an appropriate display for the hat to grin devilishly at Isabela. "You act like you aren't going to be _well compensated_ for that when we get home."

"Point taken," the pirate nodded back, then pointed at a wardrobe against one wall. "Just put the hat in there somewhere, it'll annoy him even more to find multiple surprises than just the one. Now hurry, here he comes!"

Stashing the hat and smoothing her hair down again, Ria hopped over the desk to settle into one of the two arm chairs, while Isabela took the other. Bran entered shortly after, snorting when he saw the pirate had accompanied Hawke but otherwise taking his seat without comment.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here, Serah Hawke," he began as he fished a key from his pocket and unlocked his desk. Ria and Bela couldn't resist sharing a knowing glance, and Ria very nearly started laughing then. Instead of the drawer with the hidden panel, however, Bran pulled a sheath of papers from another instead and passed them across the desk to Ria.

"Inside you'll find the details of the… situation… we at the Keep need you to take care of. Guard Captain Vallen assures me you can handle our situation _delicately_ so I expect you to be discrete."

Ria read through the papers he'd handed her, and shrugged. "Seems simple enough," she smiled. "What's the pay?"

"The usual," he replied, and Isabela snorted.

"Well then, you can assure Marlowe or whomever needs this done," she gestured with the papers, "that they'll have results by sundown tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse the captain and I…"

Bran glared at them both, then to the door. "By all means."


	12. Goodbye

_From the Dragon Age prompt generator: The Warden / Bodahn Feddic: "wish you all the best". Takes place the morning the party leaves Redcliffe for Denerim before the final battles. As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox (and in this case, bawling my eyes out)._

* * *

He fidgeted outside the door to her rooms early that morning, debating whether or not he should bother her. She was quite possibly the most important person in the whole of the country at the moment, and he didn't want to be a burden. She'd be leaving in a few hours—they all would, she and her fellow Grey Wardens, as well as all the armies that had gathered at Redcliffe in the past months.

"Enchantment?"

Bodahn nodded absently at Sandal's plea; he knew the boy wanted to go along with them all, to help them, but it was too dangerous. Squaring his shoulders, the dwarven merchant finally and rapped on the heavy oak of the door. There was an excited barking from the other side, and a moment later the male Warden—the one the humans had chosen to be their king, should they all survive—opened up with an excited mabari at his heel. The hound leapt passed them both and into Sandal's arms, and Bodahn smiled at the sight. Perhaps once this was all over, once they were safe, he'd find a pup for the boy as a companion.

"Did you need something, ser dwarf?"

"I, er, well, you see, milord," he stammered, "I just wanted to say goodbye to both you and to her ladyship. You've shown a great kindness to me and my boy, and I just wanted to be certain you knew how much it was appreciated."

"Enchantment!"

Glancing back at his son, Bodahn smiled sadly. "Sandal's awful fond of both her ladyship and of that hound, so you make certain to bring them both back safe for me, aye?"

The man's face darkened with worry, but the look was gone almost as soon as Bodahn noticed it. "Don't worry. If anyone's going to come away safely from this, it'll be Elissa. She's too stubborn for any other outcome."

"Aye, from what I've heard of her ladyship, she is at that," Bodahn laughed softly. "Make sure you're plenty stubborn back sometimes, ay?"

There was the sound of movement somewhere within the apartments, and Lady Cousland appeared behind her Warden prince. She was already dressed half in armor and half in riding clothes, and was buckling her sword belt on as she approached.

"Alistair, what's going on?"

Stepping aside for her to see, he indicated the two dwarves. "Master Bodahn and Sandal wanted to say goodbye before we left. I was about to head downstairs; did you need anything before I go?"

"No, love, I'm fine," she smiled, giving him a quick kiss before he left. "I'll be down in just a bit."

Suddenly Sandal's arms were wrapped around Elissa's waist, his face pressed into her belly. After a moment he released her, but held both her hands. "_Enchantment_!" he demanded, staring her in the eye, and she nodded.

"Yes, Sandal, I know," she agreed.

Satisfied, the boy returned to Elissa's mabari, Moira, and hugged the dog just as fiercely as he had the Warden. Scratching both the hound's ears, he placed a kiss between its eyes. "Enchantment," he whispered sadly, hugging the dog once more and then turning to leave his father and the Warden staring in confusion.

"Well, erm, right then, milady." Bodahn coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. "We just wanted to wish you the best before you left for Denerim. Be safe, and all that, for Sandal's sake, if nothing else, aye?"


	13. Laundry Day

_Written from a prompt for one character wearing/stealing another character's clothes. Originally the prompt was for Elissa and Ria, but since that technically already happens in A Warden's Duty (even if Ria's not in the scene when it happens, or that story itself at all) I went with an alternate option given to write it as Elissa and Leliana instead. Now, in head canon, Elissa's too short to share clothes with Leli, so I had to improvise a bit instead. Takes place late fall/early winter, during their first trip from Redcliffe to Denerim to find Genitivi. As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

Frowning, Elissa dug through her pack as she searched for a shift and towel. It'd been nearly two weeks since her last bath, and she wasn't going to waste such a perfect camp—no darkspawn anywhere nearby that she could hear for leagues—with such a perfect spring so close without taking a bath while they camped here.

_Perhaps I ought to take a blanket instead of a towel_, she wondered briefly, shivering as the late autumn chill invaded her tent. But no, then her blanket would be cold all night. Sharing a tent with Leliana between Lothering and Redcliffe had been cramped, but at least it had been warm. Teagan had made certain they had plenty of supplies when Elissa and the others left for Denerim to find that scholar whatever-his-name-was. That included individual tents, though _clearly_ it hadn't included a sufficient number of clean and dry towels.

She gave up her search as her scowl deepened, throwing her pack toward the back of her tent and returned to sit by the fire. If she couldn't be clean, she'd at least be warm. The moment she exited her tent, half her companions seemed to vanish into their own tents without a word.

"You know, Lissa," Alistair teased, making a space next to him where she could curl up for warmth, "if you'd smile more, they'd all run away less. I think you might have scared even Sten away after last night's tantrum."

Elissa settled into the spot he'd made for her and leaned into his side. "Oh hush, I'm not that bad. At least, I _wouldn't_ be if I could just get a bloody bath."

"I dunno, I don't think you smell that bad—ouch!"

Alistair dodged out of the way too late to avoid her knuckles ramming into his ribs, but laughed after the initial shock wore off. "See, that sort of thing is why everyone else is so fidgety around you lately. Besides, even if you haven't had a bath, you'll feel better once Leliana's done with the laundry and you have clean clothes again, right?"

Jaw dropped and eyes wide, Elissa tried to speak and choked on the words. She succeeded the second time, but only barely. "W-what did you just say?"

"Leliana took all your laundry with hers while you were out getting wood for the fire. Said she was going to wash it for you so you'd have something other than your armor to wear."

Groaning, Elissa pinched the bridge of her nose. It was going to be very difficult to resist the urge to scold her friend when Leliana finally returned.


	14. Family Reunion

_I've long since head canoned that my non-Warden!Amell and my Warden!Bethany met at some point. After being given a prompt of one character sharing a "sweet secret" with another, specifically for said Vrania Amell, I realized that writing their meeting was the only possible option. (And if you've ever read my Vrania, you'll understand how significant the end really is.) Takes place after Act 2, but before Act 3 of Dragon Age 2. Everything else is Bioware's, as always._

* * *

It was one of the dirtier of the inns she'd worked at in the last few years, but at least it wasn't another whore house. Vrania cleared a recently-emptied table of tankards and deposited them at the bar, then glanced around the common room. It'd been a quiet night; with luck the few stragglers would head home or up to their rooms, allowing the bar to close up early and maybe—just maybe—she could get some sleep for once tonight.

_Fat chance, that_, she thought to herself, tensing as the door opened and a new party let themselves in. They were a curious group, and as one of the women removed her cloak Vrania saw the crest on her armor—the double-headed griffon of the Grey Wardens.

_Not templars, then_, she sighed in relief. She'd gotten damn good at hiding in plain sight over the last six years, even to the point where she could serve the Chantry's knights face to face in the various inns, taverns, and shops she'd worked over the years without any of them suspecting what she was. Nonetheless, she was always nervous when anyone she didn't know suddenly appeared. Always nervous, and always ready to run.

Brushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear, Vrania painted on her best smile and greeted her new guests. "Anything I can get you loves?"

Perhaps a better question could have been what she_ couldn't_ have gotten them. The two men each ordered three plates of the roast, and the first woman—an elf with red curls—ordered two bowls of stew. Plus ale for all three. The last one, also a woman judging by the height and frame, but still cloaked, asked only for some mulled wine. After confirming that she'd heard their orders correctly and that the quantities weren't some joke at her expense, Vrania returned to the kitchen to start prepping their suppers.

"I'm sorry we're being such a burden so late, serah," a light voice sounded behind her, and Vrania spun to find the fourth Warden hovering at the kitchen door with a small smile. The girl couldn't have been more than a year, maybe two older than Vrania herself, with warm brown eyes and hair that just barely curled at the ends. "My companions' appetites are a bit extreme, after all, and I figured you could use an extra hand."

"Thanks," Vrania genuinely smiled, surprising herself. "I take it the Grey Warden appetite isn't just a legend, then?"

The girl laughed. "No, it's quite literal. The only reason I didn't order just as much is that I ate on the road; otherwise I'd be just as bad as they are. But where are my manners? My name's Bethany," she volunteered, offering her hand.

Hesitating, Vrania finally took Bethany's hand in reply. "You can call me… Renée."

"An awfully Orlesian name for this far east in the Marches."

"Well, I.." No one had ever challenged her before, not on her name, not on her appearance. She was fairly certain this Grey Warden Bethany was a mage, but such things were allowed—not like Vrania, an apostate presumed dead years ago. "…I was named for a relative, when my family lived in Kirkwall."

_Why in the Maker's name would I have admitted to that, to anyone? A lie couched in the truth was one thing, but if anyone suspected—_

If Bethany seemed at all suspicious, she didn't show it. "I've got family in Kirkwall myself, you know," she commented as she located a knife to slice off some sides of the roast. "A sister and an uncle, and until recently my mother as well. I don't suppose your family might have known the Amells, did they, Renée?"

Shocked, Vrania actually dropped the bowls of stew she was carrying when she heard the name, burning herself as the liquid seeped through her skirts. Bethany was there just as quickly though, murmuring a quick spell and healing the burns before they could blister.

"Thank you," the younger girl winced.

Nodding in reply, Bethany fetched a rag to help clean the mess now that Vrania's injuries were taken care of. "It's no trouble," she smiled. "Though I wonder why you didn't just heal the burns yourself as soon as they happened."

"You mean you knew?"

"That you're a mage?" Bethany laughed again. "Of course. I might not have been trained in the Circle at all, but I know how to recognize a Harrowed mage. Especially one that's almost certainly family."

Confused, Vrania could only blink in reply as she tried to remember what little of the Amell line she could. She was so young when they took her to the Circle. Wasn't there an aunt of some sort who'd run away from home? Or maybe an elder cousin?

"I'm Leandra's youngest, if that helps? My mother eloped to Ferelden with an apostate from the Gallows a year or so before my sister was born. And I'm guessing you were sent there as well—to Ferelden—by your accent."

"How do you _know_ all this?" Vrania finally asked, more in awe now than suspicious. She'd heard all the rumors of a scion of the Amell line reclaiming Kirkwall, even killing the Qunari's Arishok in single combat, but she hardly believed those tales, and she'd believed even less that she'd ever meet a living relative of any sort.

Bethany shrugged. "Mother always told us her cousin Revka had lost children to the Circle. And you, _Renée_, could be my sister's twin. Well, Ria's a few inches shorter than you, but otherwise either of you could pass for the other."

"What do you mean she lost _children_ to the Circle? I thought I was an only child."

"All I know is that's how Mother always phrased it. _Cousin Revka lost her children to the Circle and the templars_. Not child, but children." It was Bethany's turn now to study Vrania curiously now. "Although I don't know of any Amells named Renée that you could be named for, you know."

The younger Amell mage let her gaze falter. She believed Bethany, and that worried her—she never believed or trusted anyone. "My name's Vrania," she whispered finally.


	15. Bluff Called

_Written from a prompt for one character wearing/stealing another character's clothes. As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

"So Hawke, you've got to tell me: what's with the sails?"

Ria frowned in confusion as she took the cards Varric dealt her. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Your wardrobe lately," the dwarf explained. "Your armor's one thing, and hasn't changed, but when you're just being you, here playing cards or whatnot? You could fit two Qunari in some of the shirts you've been wearing lately."

"Oh," she laughed. "Just one apostate Grey Warden, actually. I bought them for Anders not long after he moved into the estate, but he rarely wears them outside of the house. He's worried about ruining them in the clinic, I think. Why?"

Bets were placed on the hand, and Varric shrugged. "I was just curious. I didn't know if you were trying to start a new trend or maybe if the shirts were meant to hide an inconvenient bump…"

"Actually, Varric, I've been meaning to have a talk with ev—"

Surprise, she'd expected. The spray of ale, she hadn't. After retrieving some rags to clean up with, she picked her hand back up and looked at Varric expectantly. "Well, are you going to play your hand?"

"Hawke you go and tell me something this huge and you expect me to just continue the game?"

"Why not? Money's on the table, and things can't be changed." She discarded a few cards and drew her own replacements. Varric finally did the same, and Ria grinned wolfishly as he placed the second round of bets. "Call?"

"Sure," he replied, somewhere between distracted and exasperated. As he laid out his hand, another thought seemed to occur to him. "Does Blondie even know?"

"Does Blondie know what?" she asked innocently as she finished arranging her cards before displaying them.

Varric's stomach sank. That grin followed by that fake innocence was never a good combination. Usually it involved gifts of the worst headwear in Thedas. Ria hadn't brought any packages with her tonight, though, so he could only assume it meant something much worse.

"I said, does Blondie know what?" she repeated as she laid out her cards and began collecting her winnings. "That I finally won a hand against you? I think I'll stop by the clinic on the way home and tell him. You know, I might just leave early tonight and tell him now. You don't mind if I call tonight's game early, do you?"

She'd already finished pouring all his coin into her purse, so he waved her off. "Sure, why not? I'm guessing this means there's not really a baby, then?"

"Disappointed you won't be an uncle, are you?"

Varric was a bit surprised to realize he was. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "It would have given me a new audience, at least. Not that I can imagine what any child you'd raise might end up like. Too many daggers and lightning and justice in that mansion of yours."

"We're pretty sure there's no danger of that," she laughed. "You've got to remember, Varric, Anders is a Grey Warden. They can't usually have children. Well, then, I'll be seeing you."

"Hey, Hawke," he called when she was almost out the door, "don't go telling everyone about this, will ya? I can't have people finding out anyone outsmarted me."

Ria grinned. "Can't promise that. On the one hand, I might want to save the joke and use it on someone else. If I decide that's the case, Anders is the only one I'll tell. But on the other hand, well… I _did_ outsmart Varric, the mighty dwarven genius. I think that'll add to my reputation quite nicely."


	16. Petty Theft

_Written from a prompt on the imagineyuorotp tumblr (different from imagineyourotp) involving your OTP on the run after stealing a balloon at Free Balloon Day. As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

Ria squealed with laughter as she dragged Anders through Lowtown's alleyways to avoid Aveline's guards.

"Maker's breath, woman, I should let them catch you!" the mage panted when she finally stopped to let him catch his breath. "I'm literally _on the run_ from the templars and Grey Wardens both and even I don't make myself run this much!"

"Oh hush, and admit that it's fun."

He had to admit, watching her casually work her way through the crowd of the Hightown Markets was always an experience. She never took things for herself; instead items from one stall would mysteriously end up on a shelf three stalls down, or a produce display would end up rearranged so that the colors of the vegetables made a lewd picture from a great enough distance. And then there were the times that a few sovereigns would be mysteriously removed from Hubert's strongbox. Justice had flared the first time he noticed _that_ little prank, but seemed quelled enough by the knowledge that Ria and Hubert were legally equal partners in the little worm's business.

"Alright, fine," he laughed finally. "But why the balloons?"

As usual when presented with any sort of _why_, Ria grinned and shrugged, which caused the spoils of the afternoon bobble over her head from their strings. "Why not? The sign said they were free."

"For children, not grown women."

"Well, then, I'll just have to take them to the clinic, and you can give them to sick children there. It'll make them feel better."

Anders shook his head. "Ria, love, you're not bringing your stolen balloons to my clinic, not even to give them to the kids. I have enough trouble laying low."

"Then I'm just going to have to take them home, won't I? You think I'll be able to get through Hightown without being noticed?"

"Not really, no."

She flashed a dangerous grin. "Care to make a wager on that?"


	17. Masquerade

_Written from the following prompt: "Imagine your OTP dancing together at a masquerade ball. They can both recognize each other, but it's exciting nonetheless." As always, I'm playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

There were very complex rules that applied when throwing a proper Orlesian-style ball. Had Elissa been aware of this—most of her education in Orlesian custom came in the practice yard from her sword master, not from her tutors—she may have refused Valena's insistence at throwing such an extravagant party for her birthday. But her maid had presented enough mostly-logical arguments, specifically that Elissa had been queen four years now without a proper royal celebration and that the Blight itself had been over for almost five years and the country had recovered enough for her to splurge, and the like that Elissa finally agreed to let her prepare a proper event. And so the Queen's Masquerade had been announced at the Satinalia feast, to take place over the Wintersend holiday three months later, and the city bustled like Elissa had never before seen.

The first rule was that everyone had to be in costume. For the servants and other staff, this was standardized into a specific uniform, each topped with a model mask designed to look like a stylized lion, to represent the Theirin royal crest. For the guests, the costumes were to be elaborate formalwear topped with masks of varying complexity, depending on the tastes of the wearer.

Merely coordinating the colors or other design elements of a gown and mask were far from sufficient, however; an elaborate theme was expected of each participant. This was where Valena's second rule came into play: the masks were used for a reason, and until it was officially announced otherwise, all guests must remain anonymous. As such, the entire guest list was immediately forbidden from theming their costumes around their own family's crests. No Theirin (of which there was only the one to begin with) could come as a lion, were Nathaniel to actually accept her invitation he would not be permitted to dress as a bear, and so forth. This didn't directly impact many of the families, though it did ruin Elissa's initial plan to use the Cousland laurel motif to have a gown created around the image of the Lady of the Forest she'd helped so many years before.

The final rule—well, the final rule that Elissa cared at all to follow—was that in keeping with the required anonymity, each guest had to have an appropriate alias. This name, and title if given, would be used to announce each person as they arrived, and would be used in all interactions until everyone's masks were removed. There was apparently an added twist, however: should anyone be able to correctly identify the guest of honor, in this case Elissa, immediately before the masks were removed then that person would receive a special gift that Valena had prepared in advance.

So when Lady Hélène of Val Chevin was announced, her entry caused a more than a few of the gathered nobles to take note; no more or less, however, than any other dark-haired woman received that night as they searched for the queen. And as they searched, Elissa floated from one dance partner to the next on the sea of midnight blue velvet she wore, covered bodice to hem in glittering gems that mirrored the moonless sky outside the palace.

Her mask was one of the more exquisite in attendance, and she worried at first that it might give her away; the most delicate silverite inlaid with onyx and sapphires and hiding all but her lips and chin from view. She was able to throw off suspicion when anyone tried to make conversation, though, apologizing profusely in her heavily-accented version of the common tongue that she did not know enough of their language to engage them as she should. This led to more than a few invitations to private lessons, of course; these she either declined, or pretended not to understand the offer as she made her way to the next noble in her dance.

Elissa couldn't help but to smile, however, when she felt the soft touch at her waist behind her. Extending her arms so her partner could take her hands, her smile widened as he did so and began to lead her through the steps of their dance.

"You're cheating, you know," Alistair murmured into her ear.

"I am afraid I do not know to what you are referring, messere."

She could sense his smirk. "Of course not, my lady."

They danced the next two songs together before he spoke again. "Do you think anyone's managed to find the queen yet?"

"Some have, I imagine," she replied after a moment's consideration. "Messeres Cousland and Howe, certainly, would know her majesty if they saw her. Perhaps Serah Arainai as well; one can never be sure with him, however."

"Zevran's here?"

"Oui, messere."

"And what about the king?" he asked as he twirled her about to face him.

As she saw him finally, she grinned. "I think he might put more thought into his costume for the next ball," she replied as she fell back into step. "I knew him the moment I saw him."


	18. The Fereldan Commander

_This is an idea I've wanted to get written down since almost before I finished A Warden's Duty itself. One of the various problems that comes with allowing the f!Cousland Warden to become queen is that she suddenly has far too many duties for one person to manage. As I mention in the dialogue here, she'll have both her political duties as queen and her military ones with the army. Add to that the extra twist that she's soon to be Commander of the Grey for Ferelden, and it gets... awkward. Not only Fereldan nobles, but the leaders of pretty much every nation would eventually take notice-and probably exception-to what would be perceived as a Ferelden ruled by the Grey Wardens as an order, rather than by two individuals who happened to kill the Archdemon. Other than fitting Elissa's solution to this in with the continuity of A Warden's Duty (where Cauthrien is eventually reasoned with) everything belongs to Bioware. :)_

* * *

Elissa was just finishing her last reports for the afternoon when the knock came at her office door. It wasn't just a _solid_ sound though, and she imagined a bit of pride and even defiance in the action as well. Alistair always knocked to announce himself _as_ he entered, and Valena did not knock at all; anywhere that Lady Elissa went, the maid had quickly established with the guards that she also possessed full rights to enter at will. That left only one person, today at least, who could possibly be coming to see her.

"Come in, Ser Cauthrien."

The woman who entered was probably Fergus's age, with her dark hair pulled into a harsh queue at the back of her head and hard blue eyes. She stood at attention before Elissa's desk as if being presented for inspection. "You wished to see me, your majesty?"

_Ever the soldier, she is._

"I'm not queen yet, Cauthrien," Elissa reminded her with a tired smile, "though I _won't_ pretend that my upcoming… elevation… _isn't_ why I've asked you here today. In fact, it's the only reason."

"I'm not sure I follow, my lady."

Elissa stood and crossed to the sideboard to pour a glass of wine for herself and her guest. "Have a seat, Cauthrien, you're making my legs ache—and I've walked the length of Ferelden probably five times through in the past year."

The knight reluctantly accepted the goblet and sat uncomfortably on the edge of one of the chairs opposite the desk. "I still don't understand why you needed to see me."

"It's simple, really," Elissa began. "Ever since the Landsmeet, I've acted as the head of the king's army, even months before Alistair's actual coronation. It was necessary, considering the Blight at hand. And while I could very well continue to serve in this capacity after becoming queen, my appointment as Warden Commander makes the situation… delicate, to say the least."

Cauthrien nodded. "I understand. I can have a list of suitable men delivered to you by week's end, all knights of distinction who will serve well."

"That's actually not what I had in mind." One corner of Elissa's mouth twitched up the slightest bit. "You're welcome to return to your former position as Captain of Gwaren, of course, if you'd honestly prefer that. But you served well as Captain here throughout the Blight. Well enough, in fact, that I'd prefer you take my place as commander here in Denerim. And I mean officially, not just as an acting position while I'm in Amaranthine."

"I think your ladyship is mistaken," Cauthrien replied tensely, but she never broke eye contact. "I served Teyrn Loghain, and then betrayed him. Ferelden's army deserves a commander who displays more honor than I have. As I said, you'll have a suitable list of candidates by week's end."

"You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I believe you give me too much."

Elissa sipped at her wine as she considered this. "Never mind the actual order to retreat at Ostagar, or its political consequences. Did you, or did you not, get your men out of that valley with minimal casualties?"

When Cauthrien didn't respond, Elissa continued. "When I tried to attack Howe at Eamon's estate prior to the Landsmeet, did you or did you not protect your lords, as was your duty? And when I walked into the trap at Howe's estate days later, did you not accept my surrender honorably, to take me to Loghain alive as ordered?"

"I did all those things, yes," the older woman admitted. "And then just days later I betrayed my lord at the Landsmeet."

"You did no such thing," Elissa interrupted before she could continue. "From at least Ostagar onward, you saw Loghain make choices you couldn't agree with. Choices that were slowly ruining him. You said yourself that the Ferelden he once defended had to be protected _from_ him. The man you spoke out against was _not_ the man you once served, and you knew it. You acted in the best interests of Ferelden, in spite of the potential consequences for yourself. Name a single one of those knights whose names you plan to put forward who you honestly believe would do the same."

For the first time, a wry smile escaped Cauthrien's lips. "And if I someday decide that you are no longer the woman who saved Ferelden? What then?"

Elissa laughed. "I should hope that you will come speak with me regarding any concerns you have before speaking out at the Landsmeet, but if such an action is absolutely necessary, I'll try to remember that I'm the one who promoted you in the first place."

"In that case I'll make arrangements for the rest of my things to be sent up from Gwaren, and I'll need to find more a permanent residence here in the city. If you'll excuse me then, your majesty?"

"There is one other thing, of course, but after that yes, you can go." Elissa paused and sipped again at her wine. "As I said, I'm not queen yet—not for a few more weeks, at least. But even once I am, your position will be nothing to blink at. If you're more comfortable using titles in public, I understand, but please use my name otherwise. Everyone else at your level does so, and I'd like you to do the same."

Cauthrien bowed. "Very well… Elissa."


	19. Tip Toes

_Written from the following prompt on Tumblr: Imagine your OTP when their height difference is great enough that Person A always had to lean up on their tiptoes to kiss Person B; or Person B picks Person A up to kiss them. (For the record, Elissa's almost 5'3" and Ria's only barely less than that; Anders is just being mean.) As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox!_

* * *

"You know, I think you really _are_ even shorter than the Commander was."

Ria had begun to lean back into Anders' chest as his arms wrapped around her waist, but then twisted around partially to look up at him. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"The Warden Commander. Well, I guess she's just Queen Elissa now, I heard she left Amaranthine finally, but anyway she was _short_. I mean, not freakishly so, but still much smaller than you'd expect out of someone of her expansive reputation. I've been trying for a few days now to figure out who's shorter; you or her, and I definitely think you are."

"I am most certainly not!" She wasn't sure why, but this bothered her. Yes, she was used to most of her friends, and even Bethany, being at least a bit taller than her but never so much that it was ever an issue. Ria pried her way out of Anders' grasp and stalked away to lean against the chair near the hearth.

"Because of course you and her majesty grew up the closest of friends, so you would know from personal experience," he teased. "Whereas I was just the only healer in Amaranthine, so I _only_ tended to her wounds when she let the darkspawn get too close."

"First you call me short and now you're making fun of me. You know Mother and Bethany let her steal half my clothes when she passed through Lothering, don't you?"

A funny, curious look crossed his face. "Is _that_ what this is about?"

"No," she finally whined. "It just seems like everything I do, I never can live up to her. My family assumed I wasn't coming back, so they gave her all my things. I saved a city by accident. She saved the world on purpose. She knew you before I did—she got to actually know _you_, not you-and-Justice. And now she's taller than me, too. It's just not fair!"

Anders just laughed as he joined her by the fire and wrapped his arms under her hips and rear to lift her up to his eye level. "You might have gotten to Kirkwall anyway, but I'm alive only because Queen Elissa vouched for me and took me away from the templars when she did. Yes, she knew me when I was only me, and yes we were in some very tight situations together. But you, _Marian_ Hawke, are not only the Champion of Kirkwall but the woman I love—the only woman I've ever allowed myself to love."

Ria made a face, but still wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "Do you really have to use my full name?"

"I think I do this time, to be certain I've got your attention," Anders replied sternly. "Now then, as for her saving the world versus you saving the city? She was able to do what she did only because of the darkspawn taint that makes her a Grey Warden. You saved Kirkwall on your own. You didn't have any magic or Warden endurance or any other advantages. You fought your way through the chaos, you faced the Arishok, and you came out alive. No one else could have done that on wit and skill alone. Only you, love."

She perked up. "So you admit that I'm witty after all?"

"Sometimes," he laughed, "when you aren't making horrible puns, at least."

"Shut up and kiss me before you dig yourself into another hole."

"At least I'm tall enough to climb back out of it."


	20. Troublemaker

_In response to the writeworld prompt, "I still don't think I did anything wrong." All belongs to Bioware._

* * *

By the time the First Enchanter found Vrania in his office, she had long since made herself comfortable by the fire as she flipped idly through a volume from the nearest shelf. It wasn't uncommon for her to irritate the Knight Commander so badly that he refused to be bothered with her, and on days like today she tended to just collect her things from whichever table or workshop or lecture she was in and escort herself to Irving's office the moment that Greagoir entered the room. The elder mage sighed when he saw her.

"Dare I ask what trouble you've found today?" he began as he confiscated her book and returned it to its home. "Or should I call for the Knight Commander?"

Vrania rolled her eyes. "I may have somewhat accidentally put Senior Enchanter Torrin to sleep so he'd stop lecturing me for my _pitiful performance in primal_."

"Tasteless alliteration is no excuse to cast against any member of this Circle in such a way, Apprentice Vrania. What else did you do?"

"Who says I did anything else?"

"You wouldn't have been sent here if it ended with the Senior Enchanter."

Unfortunately, she couldn't figure a way to escape that statement. "I still don't think I did anything _wrong_," she sulked, not ready to admit her crime. "Torrin was being an ass, senior enchanter or no, and he shouldn't have been trying to make an example of me. But since you have to know, it was simpler at the time for me to cast on a general area, rather than at him alone. And—just maybe—that area _might_ have included two templars."

"You cast against templars?"

"Coincidentally, yes."

"And it affected them? They were put to sleep the same as Torrin?"

Something in the tone of his voice caught her attention. Vrania wasn't certain if it was surprise, or pride, or both. She smiled a bit at this. "Every apprentice at my level was in attendance at the lecture. Ask one of them if you don't believe me. And if you can't believe them, well, there's the fact that Greagoir has both fools under review for being lax enough that I caught them unawares."

"Very well." Irving nodded as if making a decision. "Return to your dormitory while I speak with the Knight Commander. I want you to take no detours, and you are not to leave until summoned, not even for lessons, not even for meals. I'll see to it that someone brings you supper later."

"But—"

"I'll hear no arguments, child," he interrupted. "Go back to the dormitories and wait to be summoned. You are approaching an age where your actions are very carefully weighed, and the Knight Commander will most certainly use this incident as evidence that you lack the self-control required to undergo your eventual Harrowing. Show that self-control now by doing as you are told."

"Yes, First Enchanter," she replied flatly, rising from the chair and collecting her things. "Was there anything else you needed, First Enchanter?"

The old man shook his head. "Just stay out of any more trouble, Vrania. And whoever it is you're dallying with, don't for the next few nights. It wouldn't do for there to be any embarrassing episodes if you're summoned after curfew and are missing, or in an otherwise inappropriate situation."

"Why would I be summoned after curf—?" The young mage's jaw dropped when she finally understood the implication. Part of her ran cold as she realized that the Knight Commander might call for the Rite of Tranquility after today's episode. But another, deeper part of her lit up almost immediately after the first thought occurred to her. The First Enchanter was going to propose that she be Harrowed as a result of this instead. At the bad end of things, the Knight Commander's suspicions would be proven true and she'd never come back. But at the other end of possibility lay protection from Tranquility forever, as well as access to more advanced lessons and tomes. Smiling in spite of the worst potential fates before her, she curtsied clumsily around her books and the little knapsack that held her potion kit and other supplies.

"As you say, ser," she nodded, and excused herself from the room. And for once, Vrania _would_ do as she was told. Well, except maybe for the not-dallying part. With any luck, Cullen would hear any news there might be from Irving and Greagoir's meeting. He'd be able to give her warning, even if he didn't intend to. And if the outcome was the worst, well, Vrania had a few hours to work up a contingency plan in case that should happen. For now, though, she focused on setting a good example and being a good, obedient little apprentice as she made her way down through the various levels to her dorms.


	21. Character Windows 4 - Anora at Thirteen

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for Anora at age thirteen. Alternately, it's also my Elissa at age five, and plants the first seeds of a feud between the two that will go on for the rest of their lives. As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

The girl was a tempest, and Anora had scarcely set foot in Castle Cousland before she heard the child like a storm just over the horizon. Somewhere just above the courtyard where her father was greeted by the teyrn and his wife there was the sound of a battle, and when the tree nearest the wall shook Anora was shocked—and yet not—when a small girl tumbled out of the branches, her toy sword not far away and a pot lid shield thumping her solidly in the head as it fell after her. Black braids had long since been pulled loose, and a mass of waves, leaves, and twigs surrounded the little girl's shoulders like a dark cloud.

Teyrna Eleanor excused herself and hurried over to check on her daughter, but the little girl just laughed as dodged out of her mother's way and ran for her father instead. Scooping her up without a thought, the teyrn picked some of the more obvious debris out of her hair as he turned back to Anora's father. "Loghain, you haven't met my youngest yet, have you? Elissa, pup, show some manners and introduce yourself to the teyrn."

The little girl squirmed back out of her father's grasp and performed a clumsy curtsey. "Good afternoon, milord. My papa says you're a hero, is'at true? My name's Elssa and I'm going to be a hero too, and a princess, and a Grey Warden and when I get bigger papa's going to find me a griffon to ride!" She had a slight lisp, and she spoke so quickly that one word tumbled into the next. Overall, though, she seemed sweet in spite of her… excitement. Enthusiasm. That was a more accurate term.

"Is that so?" Anora watched in amusement as her father kneeled down to face the girl, pretending to measure her up. He had done much the same with her when she was the about same age, and recently Anora had begun to wonder if her father remembered how to smile. "You seem a bit scrawny yet. Bryce, what have you been feeding this one? She'll never grow big enough to fit on a griffon's back at this rate."

"She's not any scrawnier than I was at her age, father," Anora laughed as she came to kneel alongside the girl as well. "How old are you? Six?"

Elissa's face lit up at the attention. "Nu-uh! I just turned five last winter!"

Standing and brushing the dust from her skirts, Anora put one arm around the girl's shoulder as she turned back to her father. "See? Five years old. She's a perfectly good size for her age."

"Still too small for a hero, yet though. Now then, Bryce, have you some place we can speak before supper, and someplace my daughter can clean up from the trip?"

"Of cour—"

"She can use my room to rest and get pretty again!" Elissa interrupted, tugging impatiently at Anora's hand. "It's right this way, miss..." Her face scrunched up as she realized she didn't know what to call her new friend.

Kneeling again, Anora whispered her name in Elissa's ear. "…Anora! You can use my room, it's this way!"

The younger girl started pulling at her arm again, and Anora let herself be pulled along with a smile. "Don't worry, your Grace," she laughed as they passed the teyrna, "I'll get her cleaned up as well."

As Elissa led them through the winding corridors, Anora couldn't help but wonder if they were taking a detour of some sort. Sure enough, they passed through the teyrn's kennels, a portion of the barracks, and a practice yard before the dark-haired girl instructed her to wait in a passageway near the kitchens. Minutes later, Elissa ran out again, squealing and laughing and with her arms full of pilfered sweets. Anora chased after her, but this time their path seemed to lead to the family quarters on the upper floors.

At the top of a flight of stairs the girl struggled to push open a door and dropped half of her loot in the process; once that obstacle was finally clear Elissa took off again through the next two doors, the first straight ahead and the second just to the left. Depositing what remained of her treasure on a table just inside the room, she spun around to face Anora with a proud grin on her face. "See? These are my rooms, and we have goodies for dessert after supper tonight!"

"Do you often have to… provide… your own dessert, Elissa?"

The little girl nodded. "Mama always says I speak out of turn too much, and papa sometimes too. They say I have to be a lady if I want dessert after supper." She paused, biting at one of her nails. "I don't think mama and papa know I know how to get into the larder to get my own sweets. Please don't tell 'em, Miss Anora, they'll put extra latches on the door that I can't reach to undo."

"I'll keep your secret this time," Anora began, "on one condition. I promised your mother that I'd make sure you're cleaned up by the time our fathers are done talking. Deal?"

Elissa pointed through another door on the left wall. "Nan keeps enough water in there for me to wash up after fighting dragons. Although, I didn't find any dragons today, just that witch in that tree earlier."

"Well, why don't we start there? I think my dress is still good enough, but we need to get you one that's not torn."

"Ah… I'm not allowed to wear those ones unless Mama says I can. Those are saved for when we visit Denerim, or when really important people come to visit. Before, I used to wear the pretty ones more, but then some of them got ripped up, too."

Kneeling down and taking the girl's hands in hers, Anora pretended to glance around for spies. "What if I told you that I'm going to marry Prince Cailan someday? And that when he becomes king, I'll be queen? Do you think you mother will let you wear one of the pretty dresses for me?"

"You'll tell her it's okay for me to wear one of my good dresses?"

"You've got to clean up, first."

Elissa darted toward the dressing room, and then immediately back out again. "I don't have to wash my hair, do I?"

"Let me see you," Anora instructed. "No, I think once we brush you out properly your hair should be fine. But get that dirt off so I can see if you have any scrapes from that fall and then I'll braid your hair like mine if you like."

More than half an hour passed before the older girl was satisfied with Elissa's condition. Through some miracle, Anora found only a single bruise on the girl's shoulder—_from where the witch hit me with her spell_, she was informed—so shortly afterward they picked out a pale green dress from the wardrobe for her to wear to supper.

They sat quietly for a while as Anora brushed and braided Elissa's dark hair, wrapping and pinning it carefully into a crown over the little girl's head. Then suddenly, when Anora was about half finished, Elissa finally spoke again.

"Miss Anora, do you know how to fight?"

"I'm much better at hunting than fighting," she replied cautiously, remembering Elissa's entrance earlier that morning, "but yes. My father believed I should be able to defend myself if necessary."

"Could you teach me?"

"I don't think that would be wise, Elissa. Your parents might not approve, and I probably don't know enough to be a very good teacher."

The little girl sighed dramatically. "You mean my mama might not approve."

"But your mother has the right not to approve. Besides, don't you want to be a lady someday? I used to fight dragons and witches when I was your age, too, but when girls grow up they have to learn to be ladies."

"So… when you become queen, are you saying you won't fight anymore?"

Anora smiled, but was distant when she replied. "Ladies don't fight with swords, Elissa, if they fight at all. And a queen's purpose isn't to fight anyway. A queen is there to inspire her people, to give hope to them when they need it."

"So you won't fight anymore."

"No, probably not."

"But what if Ferelden is attacked? What if there's a blight or something? Can't you be queen and give hope by fighting the bad guys?"

"Don't be a goose, there won't be a blight anytime that we have to worry about."

Scowling, Elissa pulled away before Anora could finish her braid and turned on the older girl. "You don't _know_ that," she accused. "What about Queen Rowan? Or the king's mama, the Rebel Queen? _They_ both fought, _and_ they were ladies!"

"It's not that a lady can't fight if she has to, but they don't go looking for fights, either."

"_You_ said ladies don't fight with swords."

"Ladies don't," Anora replied, slightly irritated, "unless they absolutely must. Queen Moira and Queen Rowan weren't normal queens. There was a_war_ going then, and they had no choice."

"Would _you_ fight if there was a war?"

"Elissa, that's hardly relevant…"

"Would you, though?"

"I…"

The little girl's shoulders slumped when Anora didn't answer. "I thought, since your papa was Teyrn Loghain, that you'd be a good, strong queen like Rowan and Moira were. But you'd just let other people fight for you, wouldn't you?"

"Elissa…"

Anora had reached out to the girl, but Elissa shrugged her off. "Leave me alone. It's not like you'll help if I'm ever in trouble. You're too much of a _lady_ to help anyone." With that Elissa stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Anora waited a bit for Elissa to come back, but it wasn't until she stood to leave that the bedroom door opened again and a red-faced Elissa glared at her.

"I'm going to prove you wrong when I get big enough, _Lady Anora_. I'll prove that you can be a lady and still fight, _and_ that you can fight and still be a lady. And maybe I'll find a prince too, and I'll grow up and marry him someday, and when I get to be queen of someplace I'll still fight for people who need me. _Then_ you'll see."

The door slammed again. Not knowing what else to do, Anora let herself out of the front room and made her way to the guest quarters until supper.


	22. Character Windows 5 - Alistair at Two

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for Alistair at age two. As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

Cat padded along the corridors of Redcliffe castle, across stone floors and carpets alike, grateful for the escape from the chill outside and the saucer of cream just outside the kitchen offered up by a servant with pointed ears. After purring his thanks, though, Cat wanted a warm place to sleep and all of the open chambers he found his way into either were over-occupied with humans or else had been empty so long the hearth was long cold.

The door to the upper levels was cracked, so instead of checking the master's room Cat chose to trot up the stairs to the next floor. It was always warmer here than below, and when the weather was warm the upper windows were the best for watching birds without being caught. Unfortunately, the boy slept in a room on this floor, and the boy had until recently made quite a game of pulling on Cat's whiskers or tail or ears, ignorant of the discomfort he caused. Cat swatted the boy's nose good the last time he'd tried to play in such a way, though, and hopefully the lesson would stick.

Boy's room was the first one Cat found open, and he cautiously peered inside. The room appeared empty, but there was a fire warming the hearth. Satisfied, Cat padded inside and curled up on the warmed stone near the fire. He hadn't quite fallen asleep, however, before the beating of tiny feet could be heard down the corridor and the boy ran into the room ahead of a nurse.

"Cat!" The boy seemed proud of himself for correctly identifying his visitor, pointing at Cat and smiling up at the nurse who came in behind him.

"Yes, yes, very good," she murmured absently. "Leave the poor cat alone, and come lie down for your nap."

Ignoring the woman, the boy tried to sit next to Cat, who glared and hissed. Instead of pulling at his ears, though, the boy just sat down anyway and gave Cat a little pat-pat on the head. "Good kitty," he smiled, and sensing that the boy remembered his last lessons Cat relaxed again.

"Come on, Alistair!"

The boy whined and scooted closer to Cat, trying to lift him into his little lap. "Nu-uh. I wanna sit with kitty."

"You can't sit with the kitty, dear, you need to lie down."

Ever stubborn, the little boy lay flat on his belly in front of the hearth. Cat watched the boy for a few moments, and after deciding he was going to behave curled up next to him. The boy laughed then, rolling to his side and pulling Cat to his chest for a hug. He didn't press too hard, though, so Cat let him and closed his eyes to sleep. The nurse just stared at them for a while, then pulled a blanket from the bed to drape over them both, muttering to herself all the while about stubborn little boys.


	23. Family Secrets

_Set sometime after Asunder, pre-DA3, the missing queen of Ferelden pays a surprise visit to the leader of the mage rebellion. Everything belongs to Bioware._

* * *

"What do you want?"

Elissa sat at the edge of a bench and turned from the meager fire as the elf woman glared at her. She was as short as most of the elves back home, which surprised Elissa, with dark hair chopped short around her face. Without thinking, Elissa found herself looking for familiarities in those features. A bit of the brow, perhaps? No, not there. _The eyes_, she thought, finally recognizing the shade. _A bit darker than his, perhaps, but no less rich._

"Until recently," Elissa began, "I always found it odd that the _Grand Enchanter of the Circles of Thedas_ would refuse so many invitations to visit the court of most mage-friendly royal house outside the Imperium." Standing, she brushed at the seat of her armor out of habit, more like she was smoothing out fabric than brushing off dust or dirt.

The elf's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched Elissa come from around the bench to approach her. "My position required much of me, your majesty, as I'm sure your position required much of you. There simply was never time to spare for a trip to Denerim."

"You should have still come to visit, Fiona," Elissa chided. "I assume we can just use each other's names, can't we? Titles become cumbersome after a while, and neither of us are actually _functioning within our titles_ at this point."

"As you wish."

"I most certainly do wish," the younger woman smiled at the turn of phrase and studied the other's face again. Other than the eye color there were almost no similarities at all; it seemed that the tales of human-elf half breeds being born wholly human were true after all.

"You still should have taken Alistair and I up on the invitations, though," she stated finally, and a bit distantly. "For political reasons if nothing else; we could have stood with you."

Fiona sighed wearily, sitting finally by the fire as Elissa followed and retook her original seat. "And what reason would there be to visit, if not for political reasons?"

"To meet your son." The elf-woman's eyes flashed, and Elissa held up both hands to prevent her interrupting. "We figured out a few years ago that his mother wasn't some serving girl from Redcliffe, but he still doesn't know it's you. You could have come on official business and met him without him ever knowing if you chose such."

"Then how do you know, _Lady_ Elissa?"

"Coincidence, actually," she admitted. "You remember the Architect, don't you? I was in Weisshaupt recently, finally being chastised for taking the creature as an ally when I encountered it under Amaranthine. While awaiting the First Warden's judgment, I decided to see what the archives said about the beast. Anders—rather, _the_ Anders, not the man I recruited in Amaranthine—are notoriously thorough record keepers. One tome—just one, mind you—speaks of a female elf within the Order who gave birth some months after taking part in the expedition where the Architect was first encountered. Every mention of the woman's name was destroyed, though."

Fiona frowned. "If every mention of the name was destroyed, how did you…?"

"Duncan." Smiling sadly, Elissa kicked at a pebble in the hard dirt floor. "I only knew him a week or so, and he couldn't tell me a lot about _anything_before my Joining. But since I already knew about King Maric disappearing for a few months with a group of Grey Wardens some time after the queen's death, he indulged me with an abridged version of the story while we travelled to Ostagar. It helped to keep my mind off other events at the time. He mentioned you, and the others."

"Then a few years ago, a few months before I left Denerim, all these rumors were swirling about this new Grand Enchanter who had once been a Grey Warden. Half the court asked us about you, of course, but for lack of a better term Alistair and I had both retired. We didn't know any more than anyone else, and you never accepted the invitations we sent. As I said, I used to think it odd. I didn't really suspect anything until finding that tome in Weisshaupt, though, and didn't know for certain until seeing you here."

"And what do you intend to do, now that you know this? You'll send word back to my son, I assume?"

Laughing bitterly, Elissa shook her head. "Only three people know both who I am _and_ that I'm alive. Well, four now, including yourself. And I've been very careful that even when they're able to contact me, no one knows how to _find_ me. My husband, and our entire nation, thinks I left for my Calling years ago, just before the explosion in Kirkwall. So no, I won't be sending word to anyone about you."

Fiona's answering sigh was obvious, though whether it was of relief or not Elissa couldn't say. Both women remained silent for a while, watching the fire die down, before Fiona eventually spoke up again. "What I don't understand, is if you didn't come here to expose me as your mother in law, why did you come?"

Elissa startled momentarily, and then laughed. "I guess you are at that, aren't you? I came to ask a favor, actually. One of my Wardens… well, not_my_ Wardens, I guess, since I'd already turned over command of Vigil's Keep before she arrived there… but an old friend who eventually became a Grey Warden has a cousin who could use your help. She's not only Circle trained, but Harrowed as well, and she's been an apostate since the Blight. The girl's supposed to be brilliant, but extremely rash. We were hoping you could find her and focus her energies on something a bit safer than antagonizing drunken templars in the eastern Marches."

"You realize I'm leading a war against the templars," the elf stated pointedly. "Even if I can find this girl, why wouldn't I keep her fighting them for the cause?"

Elissa grinned. "Well, now that I know who you are, I can call it a favor for family, can't I? But even if you weren't, why would you sacrifice someone so valuable?"

"What makes her _so valuable_?"

"She can change her face, Fiona. I was told that's how she's remained free for almost ten years now. I don't know a lot about what can and can't be done with magic, but the only other person I've known to do that was a Witch of the Wilds. You should be finding this girl and teaching her enough self-control that she can help free other mages without putting herself or them in even more danger. Or is this war less about improving the lives of mages and more about rebellion for rebellion's own sake?"

Fiona glared at Elissa for a few long moments. "Fine, let's say I agree to find and help this girl. If she changes her face, how am I supposed to find her? The eastern Marches is a large area to search."

"Start with her cousin in Amaranthine, Bethany Hawke. Beth's the one that asked me to come to you for help, and she's the only one Vrania has been known to contact."

"_Bethany Hawke_, sister of the Champion of Kirkwall? This girl is _their_ cousin?"

"You know, I believe I _do_ remember Bethany mentioning her older sister in that context once or twice," Elissa replied casually. "And now that I think of it, Beth also mentioned that one of Vrania's favorite 'costumes' by sheer coincidence could pass as Ria Hawke's own twin. I don't know if she's still using that face or not, now that the Champion is a fugitive herself, but it's something to keep an eye out for."

"I can't make any promises, but I'll do what I can to find this Vrania," Fiona finally agreed. "Though if she chooses to fight I'll not stop her."

Elissa frowned. "Try and turn her away from that, except as a last resort," she warned. "I promised Bethany I'd come to you for help, not to give you a martyr."

Nodding to indicate she understood, Fiona indicated the darkness outside the ruined window. "Shall I make arrangements for you for tonight,_your majesty_?"

"No, I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality." Standing again, she collected her packs and checked all her gear. "As I said, I promised Bethany I'd ask the favor, and I had some curiosities of my own I wanted to investigate. I've done both now, and I see no reason to stay. Though I may come back around, when time permits. To say I'm curious how you've managed to escape our death sentence would be an understatement."


End file.
